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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



Chap. IMSZS. 



$ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. \ 





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GENERAL BEM 



OTHER POEMS 



MRS. L. A. CZARNECKI. 



SECOND EDITION, ENLARGED. 




lEDtttl 

A. FULLARTON AND CO. 



1853. 



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TO 

D. WIELOBYCKI, Esq., M.D. 

Dear Sir, 

As you were pleased to express to me 
your admiration of the following pieces of poetry when 
they appeared in the First Edition, and as several of 
the pieces are upon subjects in which, as a Polish 
Patriot, you take a deep interest, I respectfully dedicate 
this edition to you. 

I am, 

Dear Sir, 

Yours sincerely, 
* The Authoress. 



PREFACE. 



I take this opportunity of thanking the Public for the 
kind manner in which the first edition of General Bern 
and other Poems was received; I also owe a deep debt 
of gratitude to the gentlemen of the Press for the 
generous reviews with which I have been favoured by 
them, and which I never expected, for I am conscious 
that my poor efforts did not deserve such kindness nor 
commendation. 

I may truly say that the first edition would never 
have seen the light had it not been at the solicitation of 
one who mourns the degradation of his unfortunate 
country, being himself a proscribed exile. 

To use the words of a celebrated writer, "I was 
astonished at my own audacity, I trembled at my own 
boldness." But now, having received so much encour- 
agement, I am enabled to come before the public a 
second time in this enlarged edition. 



CONTENTS. 



LINES ON GENERAL BEM, 

THE BUGLE HORN, 

THE POLISH PATRIOT IN SIBERIA, 

TRUE HOPE, 

THE POWER OF PRATER, 

ON VIEWING A STARRY NIGHT, 

NIGHT, 

THE DYING CAPTIVE IN SIBERIA, 

WHO TREADS THE PATH OF GLORY, 

AMBITION, OR THE RETURNED SOLDIER, 

THE STORM, OR THE LOST SHIP, 

THE CRYSTAL PALACE, OR EXHIBITION OF ALL NATIONS, 

A VOICE FOR LOUIS KOSSUTH, THE HUNGARIAN CHIEF, 

TO ALGERNON MASSINGBERD, ESQ., ON HIS MUNIFICENT 

OFFER OF HIS HOUSE, CARRIAGES AND SERVANTS, TO 

LOUIS KOSSUTH DURING HIS STAY IN LONDON, 
ON ROTHESAY CASTLE, 
N A AM AN, 

WHERE CAN THE HEART HAVE PEACE, 
THE SABBATH, 

ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED BROTHER, 
TO A LADY, .... 

ON THE RIGHT HON. THE LORD PROVOST OF EDINBURGH 

RECEIVING THE HONOUR OF KNIGHTHOOD IN HOLYROOD 

PALACE, 
THE INFLUENCE OF MUSIC, 



PAGE 
1 

5 



11 
13 
15 
19 
22 
24 
26 
34 
36 
38 



41 
43 
45 

48 
50 
52 
55 



57 

60 



VU1 CONTENTS. 

JOCHONAN, OR THE CITY OF THE DEMONS, . . 62 

THE BEAUTY OF CHILDHOOD, . . . 81 

BEFORE THE THRONE IN PRAYER, ... 85 

WITHERED FLOWERS, . . . . 87 

THE POLISH MOTHER, OR THE FATE OF A POLISH HOUSEHOLD, 90 
DEAR SCOTIA'S LAND, . . ... 92 

ON THE PROROGATION OF PARLIAMENT, 1851, . 94 

VERSES, ...... 96 

DEATH THE CONQUEROR OF ALL. ... 98 

TO A. A. C, . . . . . . 101 

ON FLOWERS, . . . . . .103 

THE mother's DEATHBED, .... 104 

DECEMBER, OR THE CLOSING OF THE YEAR, . . 110 

TO MY EARLIEST FRIEND, . . . .Ill 

THE BOUQUET, . . . . . 113 

POLAND AND THE POLES IN THE LATE HUNGARIAN STRUGGLE 

FOR LIBERTY, . . . . .114 

JESUS WEPT, . . . . . .117 

CONSOLATION, . . . . . 119 

TO EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE, . . 120 

ON THE INAUGURATION OF THE WELLINGTON STATUE, AT 

EDINBURGH, . . . . . 122 

FAREWELL POEM TO A DEAR FRIEND, . . . 124 

THE SEA, ...... 126 

A PRAYER, ...... 128 

THE CHANGE, . . . . . .130 

A SOLDIER SPED ON HIS LONELY WAY, . . 133 



LINES ON GENEEAL BEM. 



In a tomb of the Moslem land, 
The crescent o'er him streaming, 

And strangers kneeling round, 
The gallant Bern lies sleeping. 

He sunk in peaceful rest, 
Who first in danger shone ; 

The hopes of the brave are dimmed, 
For their warrior chief is gone. 

For his country he fought and bled 
In many a field red and gory, 

Leading his followers on 

In the deep-trodden paths of glory. 

A 



LINES ON GENERAL BEM. 

His name — his magic name — 

Beams bright in Hungary's crown ; 

What deeds of arms he wrought 
When tyrants trembled round ! 



Ah ! Poland has wept the day, 
The death of her bravest son ; 

Had God the hero spared, 

Would her from the despot won. 

He bore her a mighty love, 
In abjuring the truth divine, 

But he thought her fetters w r ere loose 
When he knelt at Mahomet's shrine. 



Though he walked in the midst of those 
Who bend to their prophet in prayer, 

Still the cross of his father's faith 
In his heart was sacred there. 



LINES ON GENERAL BEM. 6 

He abjured for freedom's cause, 

And the scorner's triumph is vain ;* 

He shall live for a deed like that 
For aye in the scroll of fame ! 

His memory shall be enshrined 

In the hearts of the brave and true, 

And revered shall ever be the land 
Where the hero his last breath drew. 

The Russian Czar may now 

Rest on his throne secure — 
His noble foe has yielded to death, 

He can trouble his crown no more. 

Ah ! noble and gallant Bern, 

The tyrant's art was vain ; 
Thy glorious warlike soul 

His power could never enchain. 

* Alluding to a paragraph in a German newspaper calling 
him a Moslem renegade. 



LINES ON GENERAL BEM. 

Thou warrior great and good, 

Thou hast fought for thy country well ; 
Peace to thy dreamless rest, 

We bid thee a sad farewell. 



THE BUGLE HORN. 



There is a sound, a stirring sound, 

Falling gladly on the ear, 
Cheering with gay and speaking notes 

All that sound who hear. 
With strong and weighty power it comes, 

When on the breeze 'tis borne, 
Its music thrilling, bold, and deep, — 

'Tis the sound of the bugle horn. 

It pierces the heart with nameless charm ; 

The bugle's mighty voice 
Seems calling on every living thing 

To exult and to rejoice. 
Swelling high on the sounding air, 

Like the noise of the troubled wave, 
Awakening the heart to tuneful joy, — 

'Tis the music of the brave. 



THE BUGLE HORN. 

It fires the gallant hero's soul, 

And rouses it from rest, 
Inspiring feelings warm and true 

In every soldier's breast. 
Ah ! on the toilsome, weary march, 

The brave can only tell 
How it cheered and led them on — 

The bugle's martial swell ! 

When faint with thirst and heat 

On the arid sultry plain, 
It whisper'd hope to those brave bands 

That free and joyous strain. 
The tired and wearied soldier hears, 

He ceases then to mourn, 
But thinks of happiness drawing nigh 

When he listens to the bugle horn. 



THE POLISH PATRIOT IN SIBERIA. 



Torn from friends who dearly loved him. 

In a desert sad and lone ; 
No one there to soothe or cheer him, 

The joy of life all gone. 

Hope, even it hath left him, 
Nought now but fear and pain, 

For he knows his own loved country 
He will never see again. 

But 'twas no hideous fearful crime 
That forged his galling chain ; 

He strove for the boon of Liberty, 
But strove, alas ! in vain. 



THE POLISH PATRIOT IN SIBERIA. 

For his noble love of Freedom, 
A dreary wilderness his doom ; 

Condemned for life to linger 
In that cold and living tomb. 



He thinks on scenes of childhood , 
Where happy he did roam ; 

Of the love that crowned his manhood 
In his sweet and peaceful home. 

Now his proud and noble form 
Is bent with grief and care ; 

While on his thin pale features 
Are the lines of deep despair. 

His heart is seared with anguish, 

No hope nor help is nigh, 
And in his spirit's agony 

He wildly prays to die. 



THE POLISH PATRIOT IN SIBERIA. 

Thou great and omnipresent God, 
Thy sure mercy 's every where, 

Oh may that sinking spirit 
Feel thy presence even there. 



For an earthly monarch's vengeance 
Cannot touch the immortal soul; 

His cruel power is aimless, 
O'er it has no control. 



Then give to that lone captive 

What only thou canst give, 
The faith that will sustain him, 

To bear his grief and live. 

And the peace which passeth knowledge, 
That worlds cannot take away, 

Shall light that heart so lonely 
With a beam of heavenly ray. 



10 THE POLISH PATRIOT IN SIBERIA. 

'Twill guide him onward, upward, 
To that crown of priceless cost, 

Where in those glorious mansions 
Will regain what he has lost. 



TKUE HOPE. 



Bright hopes and expectations, what are ye? 
Like sunbeams glancing on the pathless sea, 
Deluding with fair visions every thought, 
Till bitter stern experience is bought 
By the cheated and sorrow- stricken heart, 
When beholding the fond hopes of years depart, 
And the light of joy that once on it shone, 
With wealth and kind friends, all — all gone. 
Ah! 'tis then that the soul will truly know 
There is no lasting happiness here below; 
For all is fleeting, false, and vain, 
That has no higher and surer aim 
Than only those things which the world can give, 
No, the thinking mind with them cannot live, 
It must have something more pure by far, 
Showing the right w r ay, like a shining star, 



12 



TRUE HOPE. 



To that anchor of hope on which it may rest 
In safety, as the child on its mother's breast. 
But true hope, where is it to be found? 
Not in rank, or the riches on earthly ground : 
When humbly praying to the Father above, 
And striving through faith for the Saviour's love; 
Then, the heart will have gain d at length 
The true hope and peace that will give it strength, 
To bear it through all the trials of life, 
And shed a sweet calm o'er the spirit's strife. 
It illumines the soul with a heavenly ray, 
Which the world cannot give, nor take away. 

Then ever look to Jesus, for He can save ; 
He brightens the passage to the lonely grave ; 
Death of his terrors His power will disarm, 
He will shield thee by His almighty arm, 
Lead thee on to that glorious place, 
Where thou shalt behold Him face to face. 



THE POWER OF PRAYER. 



When lowly at the altar bent, 

In humble heartfelt prayer, 
The Father in his gracious love 

Will grant a blessing there. 
When we our secret sins confess, 

And every guilty thought unseal, 
The sovereign mercy of his truth 

He will to us reveal. 

How great the power of prayer 

When the heart with sin has striven! 

It triumphs o'er the Tempter's art, 
Unbars the gates of heaven. 

The Saviour's blessed words to man* 
Are, Ask, ye shall receive; 

* Luke xi. 9. 



14 THE POWER OF PRAYER. 

The door shall not be shut to them 
Who in my works believe. 

Prayer brings us to his sacred throne, 

Even to His holy place, 
Where all sorrow will be soothed 

By the goodness of his grace. 
Doubts and fears shall flee away 

From the heavy-laden heart; 
Sweet peace restore the afflicted mind, 

Calm joy to it impart. 

When trouble racks the helpless frame, 

And heavy comes the breath, 
It will sustain the sinking soul 

To bear the pangs of death. 
Ye who are with grief beset, 

And tossed with many a care, 
Seek to obtain sure trust in God 

Through humble heartfelt prayer. 



ON VIEWING A STARRY NIGHT. 



Some love the greenwood bower, 
Some love the lonely dell, 

Some love the shady trees, 
Where solitude doth dwell. 



Some love to think and muse, 
And draw their thoughts away 

From worldly pleasures vain, 
That soon fade and decay. 

I love to gaze upon 

The blue and starry sky ; 

Mind is drawn from earthly scenes 
To heavenly views on high. 



16 ON VIEWING A STARRY NIGHT. 

Those dazzling stars of night, 
In all their bright array, 

Come, like an armed force, 
And bear the heart away. 



The moon, so calm and sweet, 
Shines on yon lonely hill, 

And with her face of light 
Beams on a world so still. 



Around that queen of night 
The starry diamonds gleam, 

Making us admire and love, 
Adore our God unseen. 



Ah ! man — proud vaunting man — 
Thy Maker thou shouldst bless ;- 

Couldst thou, with all thy skill, 
Sketch out a scene like this? 



;0N VIEWING A STARRY NIGHT. 17 

'Twere madness to attempt ; 

What hand could paint that glow 
Which all those glittering glories dart 

Down to this earth below ? 



The Almighty God of all, 
Creator, Lord of earth, 

He, and He alone, 

Form'd and gave them birth. 

How lovely they appear, 
As still their glories rise ; 

The world, with all its cares, 
Seems lost before my eyes. 

But I must bid adieu 

To all those glorious orbs, 

Day comes to break the charm 
Which all my soul absorbs. 



18 ON VIEWING A STARRY NIGHT. 

Farewell ! those sights of bliss, 
I leave them with a sigh — 

Thou pale and beauteous moon, 
And bright and starry sky. 



NIGHT. 



What thoughts does not Night call forth when the shades of 
evening descend, and nature is wrapt in gloom, when every liv- 
ing thing is hushed to rest, and all is calm and still? It is then 
the thinking mind can free itself from the bands that imprisoned 
it, and roam in a world of its own. It can throw away those 
trammels of restraint which held those pure and lofty feelings 
captive, that were blighted by the rude gaze of day, but are now 
more refined and tempered by the cheering, soothing influence 
of Night. The soul enjoys in itself a mixture of pure and rap- 
turous delight- little of earth mingles in those heartfelt mus- 
ings, all is absorbed by the power of the ethereal spirit within, 
while the dead stillness reigning around, and the moon shedding 
her mild lustre from above, heightens the purity and holiness of 
the scene. An unfeeling gaze cannot penetrate the depth of 
these emotions, or any proud thinking mortal scoff at the grati- 
tude of that heart's devotion. No ; it is in a sanctuary of its 
own; it is surrounded by the deep darkness of Night: but the 
eye of the Eternal beholds that sanctuary — He looks down from 
his throne, and is well pleased. His surrounding angels behold 
it too, and exult over it ; they tune their harps to a louder strain 
in the praises of that Glorious One whose almighty power has 
brought that soul in humility before Him. The pale moon 
glows with a brighter beam, shedding a clearer, more pleasing 
light, as if speaking a Maker's love. Night! thou who holdest 
a kindly influence over all ; who screenest from profane gaze 
the tears of anguish, speaking, by the darkness that shrouds 
thee, of holier and better things ; who closest the eyes of the 
weary and calmest the troubled spirit ; kings, conquerors sub- 
mit to thee ; thou art dear and welcome to all. 



20 NIGHT. 

But to the man of feeling and devotion thou art more dear, 
his thoughts rise more fervent as thy shades deepen. None but 
the eye of the Omnipotent is upon him. It is a mee't time for 
reflection. Ah ! man, improve those moments ; few will there 
be in thy lifetime so rich and fraught with bliss as these are. 
Those sighs of wind, sweeping along the verdure of the trees 
beside thee, speak a language to thy heart far more eloquent 
than all that a Demosthenes ever uttered. 

Not a sound, — it is Night, 

And lone this dreary hour, 
Nature is lost to sight, 

All covered with darkness o'er. 



How mournfully sighs the wind, 
When passing the trees along, 

Moaning, speak to the mind, 
Like music's plaintive song. 

The leaves are strewn around, 
Nipt by the autumn blast, 

Show, withering on the ground, 
Man shall fade at last. 



NIGHT. 21 

Here solitude reigns supreme, 

O'er this wild lonely place ; 
Now memory, with a brighter gleam, 

Former years may trace. 



Night ! How blest art thou, 
In cot or kingly bower ; 

Peasant, prince, before thee bow- 
All love thy softening power. 

For, now, no scornful gaze 
Disturbs the soul's deep joy ; 

Thoughts hid in the sunny blaze, 
Enjoyed now without alloy. 

Shades of Night are dear, 

They soothe the greatest grief, 

Leading to the fount of Prayer, 
That haven of relief. 



THE DYING CAPTIVE AT SIBERIA. 



'Twas night, a fearful chilling night. 

Loud howled the stormy blast, 
Flakes of snow in wild wrath 

Around fell thick and fast ; 
In a lonely hut, on his pallet lying. 
Lay a wretched, but noble captive dying. 

No devoted wife was there 

To watch his closing eyes, 
Nor child to hear his last behest, 

Or catch his breath's last sighs ; 
He had sued for that mercy again and again- 
His request was rejected, his prayers in vain. 



THE DYING CAPTIVE AT SIBERIA. 23 

Memory glanced now to the past, 

Now to his prison here, 
When the grave would shortly close 

His brief and sad career ; 
He welcomed death, who was coming soon, 
To free him from his cheerless doom. 

Dying alone in that desert wild 

Who was loved with affection deep, 

A tear stood in his dimming eye, 
The last on earth he'll weep ; 

He thinks on the woes of his suffering race, 

A pang of agony sweeps o'er his face. 

But visions of beauty meet his sight, 

The angels of God are nigh ; 
He passes away in a blessed sleep, 

In sorrow no more to lie, 
To that happy land where the King of Light 
Putteth down thrones and their tyrant might. 



WHO TREADS THE PATH OF GLOEY? 



Who treads the path of glory ? 

The soldier of renown. 
He who by his martial deeds 

Gilds brighter victory's crown ? 
One who quenches life in fiery wrath, 
Has not trod yet the glorious path. 

The gifted statesman whose high power 

Is known in many lands, 
Whose fame is matchless, — surely he 

On the height of glory stands ? 
No, his is pride of worldly gain, 
For wealth and grandeur are but vain. 



WHO TREADS THE PATH OF GLORY? 25 

The proud and haughty monarch, 

Who rules with mighty sway, 
And owns an empire's homage, 

He walks on glory's way? 
Ah! not he has ever rightly trod 
That toilsome but delightful road. 

But he who unseen humbly prays, 

And feels for all his kind, 
Who helps the suffering poor, 

And soothes the afflicted mind, — 
He, whate'er his rank in life may be, 
Treads the path of glory pure and free. 

Men think the greatest glory 

Is on the battle field; 
They draw the flashing sword, 

And strike the sounding shield; 
The path of glory is daily trod 
By those who serve and fear their God. 



AMBITION, 



OR THE RETURNED SOLDIER. 



He sat on the brow of a lonely hill, 
Swelling thoughts did his bosom fill, 
Taking a last look of his childhood's home; 
To-morrow's sun would see him gone, 
Parting from all he held dear in life, 
For the gain of glory and battle's strife. 
He sighed for the honour of warlike fame, 
That surrounds with a halo the soldier's name : 
For this he was leaving the home of his sire, 
His mother's pride, her heart's desire; 
But ambition within raged with a fierce joy — 
He would not be stayed, that Soldier Boy. 



AMBITION. 27 

A father's prayers were put up that night 
His child might be kept in ways of right; 
Mid blessings and tears he went next day, 
They watched him speed on his lonely way; 
Farther and farther he receded from view, 
Waving his kerchief in a last adieu. 

The good ship sailed through her sea-path straight, 
Landing in safety her gallant freight : 
In scenes of slaughter he began his career — 
That young soldier's heart knew no fear; 
Whenever there was danger, there his arm, 
Cool in action, no shock did alarm ; 
Dauntless in bearing, bold in hand, 
Esteemed and beloved by that brave band. 

Years sped on — and they found 
The soldier youth with glory crowned; 
He had stood in midst of cannon's roar, 
With death beside him, behind and before; 



28 AMBITION. 

And shrank not from that awful call, 
Till all by his side bleeding did fall ; 
Then, rushing into the enemy's ranks, 
Gaining victory and his country's thanks, 
He won what he wished — a deathless fame, 
Obtained what he panted for — a warrior's name. 
But in all his honour his heart would roam 
To the hills and dales of his native home ; 
The dear ones whom he left in pain, 
Henry's heart yearned to see them again ; 
He found there were sweeter joys by far 
Than restless ambition or din of war ; 
His soul no more throbbed with vain delight, 
Chastened feelings did his bosom light ; 
Hope, with bright visions, soothing came, 
He would see dear Scotia's land again. 

The sun looked down on a terrible sight — 
The dead and dying on a field of fight, 
The clashing steel, the thunder of strife, 
Young and noble yielding their life, 



AMBITION. 29 

Blood flowing there in a sickening tide. 
Horse and rider lying side by side, 
Cries of the vanquished, when fiercely they grasp 
Their falling sword in the dying gasp ; 
Shouts of the victors as onwards they rush, 
Trampling the wounded in triumph's flush : 
Who looked on that field forgot it never, 
Remembered it once, that once for ever. 

That day Henry his troop bravely led — 
Now fallen wounded, left for dead, 
Fevered and powerless his fainting frame, 
Helpless, alone on that battle plain, 
Parching with thirst, he gazed with sunken eye, 
No one near to hear his moaning cry, 
His sight grew dim, his hopes were o'er, 
Sunk back steeped in his own heart's gore ; 
But the chain of life was not yet gone, 
Though he lay in that deathly sleep so lone, 
Visions floated near him in that strange slumber, 
A voice like an angel's seemed to whisper — 



30 AMBITION. 

" Fear not, I am with thee, thou shalt live ; 
Love God, and thanks to His glory give, 
Choose a better and surer path 
Than the one leading only to bloody wrath."*- 
Strains of music seemed lingering near, 
Falling with joy on his raptured ear. 

Was it still a dream ? where was he lying ! 

Not on the ground so lately dying — 

In a chamber that with grandeur was drest, 

On a soft downy couch of rest ; 

A lovely form was o'er him bent, 

She look' d as if from heaven sent ; 

A venerable man beside her stood, 

With looks benevolent, kind and good, 

He saw Henry's gaze that on them fell, 

How he was there he hastened to tell : 

" Soldier — passing the field, I heard a groan, 
And stayed to listen where it came from ; 



AMBITION. 31 

I found thee in a dying state, 

Saved thee ere it was too late ; 

With speed and safety I brought thee here, 

Be calm and quiet, there is no fear." 

Henry's heart was too full to speak, 

The tears rolled down his manly cheek. 

Days, weeks passed ere he was well, 
On him a holy influence fell, 
His thoughts changed, they were not the same, 
Like those when he worshipped worldly fame ; 
His gentle nurse, who had watched his breath, 
And bound his wounds when near to death, 
He loved to view her face so fair, 
Truth and beauty shone forth there ; 
New bright visions came o'er his soul, 
He submitted himself to their soft control ; 
That father and child what did he not owe, 
Who made his heart with new feelings flow % 
To his own dear land they were going soon, 
The place of their birth as well as his own ; 



32 AMBITION. 

Grateful joy his heart did fill — 

They would not part, he could see her still. 

The dreams of ambition he thrust them away, 

No more to resume their wonted sway ; 

He had a higher and holier aim in view — 

To live in faith like the Christian few. 

Did that soldier do wrong, my friends, now say ? 

No ; like Mary,* he had chosen the better way. 

A joyous sight was in that old hall 
When the curtain of night round did fall ; 
They who years before with grief were seared 
With smiles of happiness now appeared ; 
The wanderer 's come back to their love again, 
Never in life to go from them ; 
His mother's arms were round him flung, 
His father on his accents hung : 
'Twas well worth waiting an hour like this — 
Full with joy was their cup of bliss. 
* Luke x. 42. 



AMBITION. 33 

To Henry the future with gladness teemed, 
Contentment in his bosom beamed, 
His gentle nurse he won for his bride. 
With him to share whate'er might betide ; 
He lifted his voice in thankful praise 
To God, who ambition from his heart did erase : 
The vision on the battle-field he never forgot, 
He obeyed, and had chosen the better lot. 



THE STORM, OR THE LOST SHIP. 



On the deck of that gallant ship 
They stood, despair in every eye, 

While the fierce and angry waters raged, 
No hope there but to die ; 

They who ne'er but in oaths had spoken 

Now prayed, in terror, in language broken. 

Loud on the blast came the thunder's roar, 

Lurid the lightning's flash ; 
The helpless vessel heaved to and fro, 

In pieces soon to dash : 
The mariners gazed on that scowling sea, 
Groaning, they knew what their fate would be. 



THE STORM, OR THE LOST SHIP. 35 

What a scene on that sinking deck ! 

All passions pictured there — 
A mother's grief, a father's woe, 

And weeping children fair, 
Clasping each other in rending grief, 
Then crying to God to send relief. 

Hark ! what a fearful shock, 

Their last hope is now o'er, 
The ship with a jarring crash 

Sinks to rise no more : 
With a shriek of agony for help to save, 
Down they sink to that watery grave. 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE, 

OR EXHIBITION OF ALL NATIONS. 

(Written August 9, 1851.) 



Wondrous and mighty that world's fair, 
The genius of nations displayed; 

Grandeur, labour and every art, 
In that fairy Palace is laid: 

A scene like it, since the world began, 

Was never beheld by the eyes of man. 

The skill of earth is there combined — 

The pride of many lands — 
In endless beauty and graceful taste — 

The work of mortal hands : 
A sight magnificent that must raise 
Various feelings in those who gaze. 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 37 

But they who think with feelings right, 
When they enter that Palace fair, 

To God will all the glory give, 

Rendering praise to His name there; 

For He, the Lord, has given to man 

The riches, the power, and the gift to plan. 

Britain is above all nations famed 

For Religion's enlightened sway; 
Never may her freeborn sons 

Their religion ever betray! 
Had Popery reigned in this favoured land, 
That Palace would ne'er been allowed to stand. 



A VOICE FOE LOUIS KOSSUTH, 

THE HUNGARIAN CHIEF. 

(Written June 26, 1851.) 



Away from the Mends they love, 
Exiled from their own dear land, 

Kutayach's towers enclose 
A noble patriot band. 

Kossuth, their country's chief, 

Who strove for the glorious cause, 

And fondly thought to give 
A nation Freedom's laws. 

He, too, is a prisoner there, 
Who would have died to win 

That boon, for which he hoped 
Till even hope was sin. 



A VOICE FOR LOUIS KOSSUTH. 39 

Liberty ! he fought for thee — 

Thy right his only aim; 
Yet tyrants won the day 

He nobly sought to gain. 



And thou, heroic wife! thy name 
A household word shall be — - 

A star so pure and bright 
That all must worship thee. 

Thy rare and matchless love 

Did danger proudly brave, 
That thou might share with him 

A prison or a grave. 

But Haynau ! that name of disgrace, 
Who has tarnished the soldier's fame 

By deeds of the darkest dye, 

Shall be covered with endless shame. 



40 A VOICE FOR LOUIS KOSSUTH. 

Let tyrants, such as he, become 
A blot on history's page, 

Who would quench the spirit free 
In chains or bloody rage. 



My country, thou so great, 

Hast stretched thy hand of power 
To protect this suffering chief 

In danger's coming hour. 

His sorrows have a claim 
On every soul who feels; 

Nor will a British heart 

Ever turn from such appeals. 

Kossuth ! the sons of Freedom will 
Unite their prayers for thee, 

That thou mayest soon obtain 
A home secure and free. 



TO ALGEENON MA8SINGBERD, Esq. 

ON HIS MUNIFICENT OFFER OF HIS HOUSE, 

CARRIAGES AND SERVANTS, TO LOUIS KOSSUTH, 

DURING HIS STAY IN LONDON. 



Honour belongs to the soldier's name 

In the page of martial story; 
Greater honour thou hast gained 

Than in the strife for glory. 

In the hearts of the truly brave 

Thy noble deed shall shine; 
Thou welcomed Kossuth, Hungary's chief, 

And did for him all resign. 

'Twas meet that a soldier should — 
And an English soldier too — 

Stretch out his generous hand 
To the patriot brave and true. 



42 TO ALGERNON MASSINGBERD, ESQ. 

Free son of Britain's land, 
Nobly hast thou sought 

To serve the exiled chief, 
Who for his country fought. 

Massingberd, thy name shall live 
When other names shall die ; 

May fortune's choicest gifts 
Thy wishes not belie. 

Hail to the brave Horse Guards 
Who claim thee for their own — 

A corps with honour crowned — 
The pride of Britain's throne. 



ON EOTHESAY CASTLE. 



The ruins of Rothesay Castle, Isle of Bute, are replete with 
interest, not only from the historical associations connected with 
it, but from the beauty and grandeur of its appearance. In the 
day of its power and glory it appears to have been a fortress of 
great strength and magnitude ; but now, alas ! it stands alone, a 
decaying ruin, — the relic of a departed age. Yet a great part 
of it still remains. The once stately but now mouldering walls 
are entirely covered with ivy ; at the door of what was once the 
chapel, the font and basin for holy water still exist. Nothing 
but those significant relics marks the place where once had stood 
a sacred edifice. Those walls which had witnessed the tears of 
the humble penitent, and the confessions of the agonised heart, 
are broken and dismantled by the hand of destroying time, 
reading to the thoughtful heart a stern and warning truth. 
Well worthy is it of a visit from the tourist, the antiquary, or 
the lover of the grand and beautiful. 

Thou ancient castle, seat of kings, 

'Tis sad to gaze on thee; 
In thee no more shall beauty beam, 

Nor warrior welcomed be. 
For the ruthless tyrant, Time, 

Has laid his heavy hand 
On thy proud halls, thy turrets high, 

And towers great and grand. 



44 ON ROTHESAY CASTLE. 

Dismantled, alas ! is the holy fane, 

Where knelt the brave and fair, 
The sacred font remains to tell 

What once was the house of prayer. 
Strange heavy thoughts come o'er the mind, 

When lingering near this place, 
Memory views the days gone past, 

Where now is scarce a trace. 

Though fallen from its mighty strength, 

Its glory dimmed and worn, 
Yet beauty still is left to view 

Which age has never torn. 
Fair Rothesay's charms cannot boast 

A sight more truly great 
Than thee, her stately palace home, 

Though ruined is thy state. 



NAAMAN. 

II. Kings, chap. v. verses 9th and 10th. 

9th, So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, 
and stood at the door of the house of Elisha. 

10th, And Elisha sent a messenger unto him, saying, Go and 
wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to 
thee, and thou shalt be clean. 



He came in splendour of Eastern pride. 

With might and lordly state, 
Naaman the captain of Syria's host, 

To the prophet's humble gate. 

Covered o'er with a loathsome leprous taint, 

Clouding his life with care, 
To be cured from that fearful fate, 

He stood rejoicing there. 



46 NAAMAN. 

" Seven times in Jordan's water wash/' 

Elisha's message came, 
" Thy flesh shall become like youth. 

And thou renewed again." 



He turned in wrathful rage away, 
Through a haughty unbelief; 

He thought that necromantic power 
Should be used for his relief. 



For the prideful heathen deemed 
The command to him absurd ; 

Israel's God a mystery was, 
Faith, knew not the word. 

Besought by the voice of love, 
He turned the rightful way, 

And plunged the healing waters down, 
Eose pure as new-born day. 



NAAMAN. 47 

He, who a little while before, 

His pride and anger showed, 
Came back again to the prophet's gate, 

An humble child of God. 

For his humility was very great, 

It covered all his sin — 
He shines a bright example 

For all to do like him. 

May we all, like Naaman, then, 

Bend down in humble faith 
To Him who washed our sins away, 

Through His savin g death. 



WHERE CAN THE HEART HAVE 
PEACE? 



Where can the heart have peace 

When crushed with pangs of woe ! 
Where can it find a rest — 

Be freed from every foe ? 
Can pleasure give a charm 

When all is dark despair ? 
Can music's strains bring mirth 

When no joyous feeling 's there ? 

No ; wealth, splendour, cannot give 
The troubled soul true bliss — 

They only make it doubly feel 
Its pain and weariness. 



WHERE CAN THE HEART HAVE PEACE? 49 

Beauty's power is also vain — 

It can no longer fondly cheer, 
No longer throw its potent spell 

O'er the mind where all is fear. 

They sadly fail — the world's gifts 

Only lead and lure astray ; 
No shining light they give 

To guide us on our way : 
But Religion's hallowed, sacred light 

A gracious God has given ; 
It gives the heart sweet peace — 

The hope to live in Heaven ! 



THE SABBATH. 



Bless'd day of peaceful joy, 
A gift to mortals given, 

To rest and to prepare 

Their entrance into heaven. 

Bright day of holy love, 
Comforting the mind, 

When, in the heavenly book, 
We consolation find. 

Glorious day to those 

Who have true hope within, 
By Jehovah's saving arm, 

O'er thrown the Man of Sin. 



THE SABBATH. 51 



Ah ! sacred day to all 

Who love the Saviour's law. 
That truly bend in prayer 

With reverential awe. 

May every heart adore the truth, 
Walk in the narrow way, 

Leading to the blissful land 
Of pure eternal day ! 

Let grateful thanks be raised, 
And swelling praises sing, 

To the Sovereign Judge of Earth- 
Our Lord and Mighty King. 



ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED 
BROTHER. 

December 7th, 1849. 



I wept in grief that night, 
My tears \yere falling fast, 

Shadows of departed years 
Before me flitted past. 

The brother I loved in early days, 
When all was fair and bright, 

The hope that shone on him 

Hath sunk in death's dark night. 

And my hopes — yes, they too — 
Shall fade and die at last, 

Like flowers withering on their stem- 
Fit emblem of the past. 



ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED BROTHER. 53 

For ah ! 'twas sad to think 

He who was always kind. 
Ever loved me, now hath fled, 

And left me here behind. 

Gone to a happier land — 

A home of heavenly rest ; 
His pains and cares are o'er, 

In mansions of the blest. 

Shall I wish him back 

To this vain world again ? 
No ; 'twould be a selfish thought — 

'Tis my loss, but his gain. 

For he was all to me — 

My playmate, friend and brother ; 
Never, here on earth, 

Shall I find such another. 



54 ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED BROTHER. 

Farewell, tliou dearest friend ; 

My heart, in grief and woe, 
Weeps o'er thee — those blighted hopes, 

Like thee, are laid so low. 



TO A LADY. 



Sweet the moonlight hours, 
The winds that softly sigh ; 

Sweet the blooming flowers 
That round our pathway die. 

But sweeter far the light 

Which shines in thy dark eyes ; 
More sweet, more fair and bright, 

The grace which in them lies. 

Then the soul that speaks 
In those bewitching orbs, 

Like music soft and deep, 
All the heart absorbs. 



56 TO A LADY. 

In grace how sweet art thou, 
Fit for a queenly bower ; 

We yield the crown, and bow— 
We feel and own thy power. 



The graceful lily and lovely rose 
Divide the palm between, 

Thou their beauties both disclose, 
And well might reign their queen. 

Long shine in all your grace, 
With happiness ever dwell, 

In all thy charms of face — 
Lady, fare-thee-well ! 



ON THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 

THE LORD PROVOST OF EDINBURGH 

RECEIVING THE HONOUR OF KNIGHTHOOD 
IN HOLYROOD PALACE.* 

(Written September 5, 1851.) 



Glory of other years has come 
Back to its pristine reign — 

Holyrood Palace hears the sound 
Of a Monarch's voice again. 



Ages have fled and gone 

Since a sight like this was seen — 

A subject, in that royal house. 
Knighted by a Queen. 

* It is 200 years since a similar honour was conferred in 
Holyrood Palace. 



58 PROVOST OF EDINBURGH. 

The hoary pile looked then 
Like merry days of old, 

Curtains of the past rolled 
Back their gorgeous fold. 



He knelt before his Queen, 
There, in her regal right, 

She honour great conferred on him- 
He rose ordained a knight. 

Most gracious was the gift, 

He did deserve it well ; 
His duties nobly had been done, 

As truthful lips can tell. 

Religion's beaming light 

Has kept pure and unprofaned, 
The office given to his trust 

Guarded is unstained. 



PROVOST OF EDINBURGH. 59 

Sir William, long may thou 

Sweet happiness enjoy, 
Thy Sovereign truly serve 

And talents well employ. 

Hail to our beloved Queen, 

Who has, in peaceful sway, 
Given her ancestral Scottish home 

Smiles of brighter day : 

And has enthroned herself 

In every British heart ; 
May all her days be joy, 

And every grief depart ! 



THE INFLUENCE OF MUSIC. 



Soothing 'tis to hear, in the evening shade, 

A strain of gentle music played : 

It raises the grieved and sinking heart, 

From bitter misery takes the smart ; 

It hushes the little child to rest, 

When pillowed on its mother's breast ; 

It soars the Christian's heart to heaven, 

To Him who for us hath all things given. 

Music to every soul has a charm : 

It will the wrathful foe disarm ; 

It so strengthens the arm on the battle-field 

That men would rather die than yield ; 

It accompanies the dying hero brave 

In a last sad march to the lonely grave ; 

It swells with a triumph the victor's train, 

When coming from the field of the slain ; 



THE INFLUENCE OF MUSIC. 61 

It is heard in the humble village cot, 
Making more happy the peasant's lot. 
In hamlet and in lordly hall, 
Music has varied delights for all. 

Still it has higher ends than all this — 
'Tis one of the joys in the land of bliss — 
The harps of the angels hosannas sing 
Before the throne day and night to Him 
Who for sinners this vile earth trod, 
That he might bring us unto God : 
Then let us pray to that heavenly Hand, 
That we may inherit that blissful land. 



JOCHONAN, 



OR THE CITY OF THE DEMONS. 

(Versified after reading the Story by William Maginn.) 



In Egypt's land there dwelt, 

In all the pride of fame, 
A Rabbi who by wisdom gained 

A fair and honoured name. 
His name went o'er the lands 

That from east and west do go; 
Distant nations sent their sons — 

Lore from his lips did flow. 



JOCHONAN. 63 

Princes from foreign shores 

Did come to hear him speak; 
They sat, amazed and awed, 

Astonished at his feet. 
Jochonan the Wise he was surnamed — 

His life was great and pure; 
But Jochonan the miser had he gained — 

He help'd not the suffering poor. 

A youth fell dead at his feet, 

When disputing on the Holy Law — 
Fell dead before Jochonan there, 

All gazed with fear and awe. 
The Rabbi saw and shook, 

He rent his robes in twain, 
Then praised the Lord his God, 

And glorified His name. 



64 JOCHONAN. 

I shall perform, he vowed, 

Whatever the Lord shall say; 
I to his holy blessed name 

Will humble reverence pay: 
A cry — " Awake ! Awake ! " 

That ni^ht came to his £*ate — 
" Arise and hear the call 

That summons thee so late : 



A child is in danger great — 

The mother hath sent to thee- 
Thou must do thy part — 

Haste and come with me." 
Jochonan he arose and said — 

" I cannot go with thee, 
For younger men there are, 

Therefore to them go ye." 



JOCHONAN. 65 

" Here is gold/' the stranger said, 
" Thou shalt have any sum: 
In the Lord's most holy name 
I adjure thee for to come." 
" Put up thy gold — come here — 
I will go with thee now, 
Thou hast called His holy name, 
Before that name I bow." 



The stranger was a gallant youth, 

And clothed in gay attire; 
In accents sweet he spoke 

As he thus addressed the sire — 
" The journey is not far, 

The path is sure and wide, 
Through every danger of the way 

I will thee safely guide." 



66 JOCHONAN. 

Jochonan's thoughts were sad,, 
He felt oppressed with grief; 
He would have given much 

From this state to get relief. 

* * * * * 

He was led down a fearful height 
To a place he ne'er had seen; 

'Twas a city very mighty, 
And beauteous it did seem. 



The aspect of the citizens 

Foreboded nothing good — 
He wished himself placed anywhere, 

Than on the spot he stood : 
He looked again and now observed 

That they were demons fell — 
He could not think nor act ; 

He felt as 'neath a spell. 



JOCHONAN. 67 

He gazed upon his guide — 

But what could he now do? 
He saw the mark which showed him 

To be a demon too. 
The Mazikin on this did break 

The stillness of the hour, 
With a smile, did say to him 

The journey is now o'er. 

A house before them lay, 

It gracefully did stand, 
Its gardens spreading far, 

In softened beauty grand : 
The lady, who was fair, 

Above all that poets dream, 
On eastern couch reclined, 

In loveliness serene. 



68 JOCHONAN. 

The child in raiment gay, 

Was slumbering by her side 
In innocence, unconscious 
Of evil to betide. 
" Jochonan is come," said the demon, 
" He stands at thy right hand ; 
And I to thy utmost wish, 

Will perform what you command : 



Now I leave to go and see 

That all shall soon be done ; 
Jochonan is in haste, 

Impatient to be gone." 
A bitter smile lurked on his face, 

Despite of words so fair, 
For well he knew his power 

Could hold his victims there. 



JOCHONAN. 69 



The lady turned and looked — 

She gazed on him with care- 
Then earnestly she spoke, 

In accents of despair — 
u Thou never wouldst be here, 

Nor made to enter in. 
Unless that thou hast done 

Some great or awful sin," 



" Lady, the Lord my God's command 
I ever always kept — 
Truthful in word and deed I've been, 
In rectitude have stepped." 
" Thou mayest have done all this — 
Ay, more than all this too — 
And yet be subject to his power — 
My words to you are true. 



70 JOCHONAN. 

I am a daughter of thy race — 

My sin imports not to thee — 
My husband who led thee here 

Through that sin obtained me. 
I would not that my child, 

Like his mother, should be lost ; 
I wished thy prayers for him, 

But not at thy soul's cost. 



Listen and attend to me, 

Perform what I now say, 
Then from his power thou shalt 

Escape without dismay — 
Rewards of any kind 

From him must not accept; 
Thou fasting must remain 

Tho' he with meat should tempt. 



JOCHONAN. 71 

If steadfast, firm and true, 

He cannot o'er thee boast; 
But fail the slightest thing, 

And thou art ever lost. 
In these lie all the power 

Which he can have o'er thee ; 
But firmly stand the test — 

Refuse, thou free shalt be." 

" Ah ! lady fair and bright, 
To hear is to obey; 
What words can I to thee 
My gratitude convey?" 
" No thanks ! 'tis sweet to me 

To shield a soul from wrong — 
Hark ! I hear my husband's voice — 
Trust in God — be strong." 



72 JOCHONAN. 

Calm, but with powerful praise, 

Jochonan the service gave, 
That numbered 'mong the good 

The babe he came to save. 
The Mazikin, when all was o'er, 

Brought viands, then by him stood, 
Entreating him with grace 

To refresh himself with food. 



" My lord, be not displeased, 
Eat I cannot now 7 ; 
Till the sun go down 

To fast I've made a vow." 
u It is well and good, 

Thy vow need not be broken." 
But he gave a fearful laugh, 
Which evil did betoken. 



JOCHONAN. 73 

Jochonan passed the time 

In supplicating prayer 
To Him, tlie Lord of all, 

For strength and guidance there. 
He came again at even-tide 

With finer, daintier meat — 
Rabbi, thy vow was sore, 

Now I pray thee eat." 

" I have my vow renewed, 
Yet bear with me again; 
Force me no!:, my lord, 
To eat, it is in vain." 
" Be it as thou wish ; 

Rise up and follow me, 
The gloiies of this place 
I wish thee for to see." 



74 JOCHONAN. 

Into a rich and lofty room 
He led Jochonan then, 
Where loads of shining silver lay, 
Not dug by mortal men : 
" Rabbi, seest thou all this? 
I give it, it is thine, 
Willingly it is bestowed, 
No longer is it mine." 



" When I came here, my lord, 

I looked not for reward; 
I came in God almighty's name- 

Thou in that name me called.' 
As before, the same reply: 

He still led Jochonan on 
To a stately, regal hall — 

Like to the sun it shone. 



JOCHONAN. 75 

Composed of massive gold 

Were the pillars all around; 
The brilliant metal glowed 

In profusion on the ground : 
Above, around, beneath, 

All was glittering gold ; 
Heaps above heaps lay piled 

Of kingly wealth untold. 

Jochonan's eyes they glistened 

In the yellow light ; 
Such a scene even fancy 

Never opened to his sight. 
" This/' said the Mazikin, " this is 

A gift for thee more meet ; 
Take what to thee seems right, 

Even all, I again repeat." 



76 JOCHONAN. 

Jochonan's form it shook, 

The temptation was so strong: 
>Gold he had ever loved, 

All would to him belong: 
But he shuddered at the thought — 

The exchange that would he asked- 
He closed his eyes in prayer, 
And the temptation passed. 



" My lord, accept I cannot, 

I must refuse even this ; 
If here I have done any good, 

Such a thought alone is bliss." 
The Mazikin glanced strangely 

At Jochonan when he spoke ; 
His inward fight he noted well — 

A smile o'er his visage broke. 



JOCHONAN. 77 

" Rabbi, come farther still, 

Thou hast not see*) them all." 
Jochonan in silence walked — 

No sound was heard to fall: 
Then, what a scene of beauty 

Burst on his throbbing gaze ! 
His eyes he shaded for a time — 

Intense was the living blaze. 



The high and gorgeous hall 

Was covered with diamonds bright ; 
There columns of precious stones 

Poured forth their glorious light; 
Vases unnumbered w 7 ere arranged 

Around that princely place, 
Filled with many priceless stores 

That kingly crowns would grace. 



78 JOCHONAN. 

Jochonan mute — entranced was — 

He looked with aw r e profound: 
His senses overwhelmed were — 

The sight did him astound. 
" Rabbi, the service thou didst do 

Was nothing in my eyes — 
In the esteem of her I love, 

It rightful was and wise. 

The treasures of earthly kings 

Could not purchase even one 
Of those bright gems thou seest there, 

Eesplendant as the sun : 
Because that thou hast pleased her, 

The beloved of my soul, 
I give all thou beholdest here 

To thee, Jochonan — all." 



JOCHONAN. 79 

The Rabbi's senses were enthralled — 

Was he to own this treasure ? 
Be richer than the noblest prince — 

The very thought was pleasure. 
But swift as lightning's flash 

Came the remembrance of his doom — 
All the riches there displayed 

Became like a yawning tomb. 



With a fervent, broken voice 

He called on God for strength 
To withstand that subtle snare — 

His prayer was heard at length. 
" My lord, I thank thee fervently, 

But Jehovah I would displease— 
I came to do His sovereign will, 

And not to obtain these." 



80 JOCHONAN. 

"Ah! Jochonan, Ben David's son, 

Thou knowest me now I see; 
I am a demon sent to try 

For ever to rain thee: 
Thy love of gold was very strong— 

Thou lov'dst it with thy heart ; 
'Twas it that gave me all the power 

O'er thee to do my part. 



Come with me yet once more, 

Thou need'st not fear nor start 
The last to see, and then thoci may'st 

From this in peace depart." 
To a dim and dingy cell 

The Rabbi was now taken ; 
Nought could he see but rusty keys 

With which the walls were laden. 



JOCHONAN. 81 

He marvelled much to see 

The keys of his own dwelling; 
With emotion and surprise 

He felt his bosom swelling. 
The Mazikin now took them down : 

" Those thou wilt not refuse ; 
Jochonan, they are thine — 

Thy gifts do not misuse. 

Rabbi, when thou openest thy door. 

Open thy heart likewise ; 
And to the poor diffuse thy wealth — 

Pity the orphan's cries." 
He returned in safety home. 

With joy and cheerfulness ; 
Before the Lord he humbly bowed, 

With chastened thankfulness. 



82 JOCHONAN. 

Wherever there was want or grief 

There was Jochonan's helping hand, 
A blessing and a praise he was 

Throughout the land. 
His heart with avarice no more 

The orphan and widow withstood — 
No more Jochonan the Miser, 

But Jochonan the Good ! 



Note. — The moral conveyed in this tale is very beautiful: it 
shows that however good and just we may be in all our actions, 
yet, when weighed in the balance, we may be found wanting. 
How beautiful are the words of Christ, Matthew, chap. vi. verses 
21st and 24th — " For where your treasure is, there will your 
heart be also ; " and again, " Ye cannot serve God and mammon." 



THE BEAUTY OF CHILDHOOD. 



Lovely to see the gambolling play 
Of a little child in the sunny day ; 
The laugh that sounds with joyous glee, 
And the gladsome bound of the spirit free : 
The smiling, bright, and sparkling eyes — 
No thought nor sorrow in them lies — 
Dancing they seem in their glory bright, 
Throwing a charm where'er they light ; 
Bounding along with spirit wild — 
Gay is the life of a little child. 

But the world will dim those sunny eyes — 
Instead of glee will come heart sighs ; 
The hopes of the soul will fade away, 
Like the darkened shades of gloomy day ; 



84 THE BEAUTY OF CHILDHOOD. 

The laugh that sounded with merry tone, 
Chilled by the world shall then be gone : 
Grief, with stern remorseless power, 
Gives many a pang to the changing hour; 
Youth is fleeting, and pleasure vain, 
When the cheek is pallid by sorrow's pain ; 
However gay the morning of life, 
Shadows will fall on the spirit's strife. 
We never can hope for the heavenly crown 
Till guileless and simple we become : 
Praise to His glory who, in meekness mild, 
Said — Come unto me like a little child. 



BEFORE THE THRONE IN PRAYER. 



When the heart is throbbing 

With this world's pain, 
The visions of hope dispelled, 

And friends prove vain ; 
Then it will find a solace, 

Though burdened sore with care, 
When meek and lowly bent 

Before the throne in prayer. 

Though all around be gloom, 

Not a ray of light, 
Clouds of misery fall 

On what was pure and bright ; 
Though the load be heavy, 

And very hard to bear — 
Cast all at Jesus' feet, 

Before the throne in prayer. 



86 BEFORE THE .THRONE IN PRAYER. 

Death may have snatched away 

All thou lov'dst on earth ; 
Thy heart be grieved and sad 

Beside the lonely hearth ; 
Trust in thy Heavenly Father, 

He will joy prepare, 
In those hours of refuge 

Before the throne in prayer. 

God will guide and strengthen, 

By his almighty power ; 
Keep thee from the blast 

Of every evil hour : 
Thou shalt have holy peace 

Falling on thee there, 
When contrite, humbly bent 

Before the throne in prayer. 



WITHERED FLOWERS. 



Those sweet and lovely flowers, 
Withering there they lie, 

No more shall genial showers 
Revive to life — they die. 

Their hues of every shade, 
Bright, lovely to the view, 

Are blighted and decayed, 
And earth cannot renew. 



The beauteous Lily fair, 
So pure to look upon, 

Lies crushed and fallen there, 
Its grace for ever gone. 



88 WITHERED FLOWERS. 

Bowed is the noble form — 
Dimmed the brilliant dye, 

Of the Tulip's stately charm, 
That struck the gazer's eye. 

And the modest Violet sweet 
Has bent its lowly head ; 

Not long the eye did greet, 
Till all of beauty fled. 

The garden's pride and boast, 
The softly blushing Rose, 

Its radiant glow is lost — 
Its reign is at a close. 

Though paled the rosy bloom, 
Though every leaf is dead, 

A fragrant soft perfume 
Around is sweetly shed. 



WITHERED FLOWERS. 89 

The memory of the good and kind, 

Like that wan faded Rose, 
A verdant freshness leaves behind 

Though life is at a close. 



Though in the cold and silent tomb 
Their bodies shall decay, 

Again they shall renew and bloom, 
In everlasting day. 



THE POLISH MOTHER, 

OR, THE FATE OF A POLISH HOUSEHOLD. 



She sits in her lonely hall. 

Neither husband nor child beside her 
All that she loved on earth 

Swept off by the ruthless invader. 

He to whom she plighted her troth 
Cannot hear her pitiful cry ; 

Rudely he was torn from her arms, 
In the wilds of Siberia to die. 



The son of her pride, her first-born, 
Her age would have shielded ; 

In defence of his country he fell, 
And life on the battle-field vielded. 



THE POLISH MOTHER. 91 

She, the joy of her mother's heart. 
Who cheered her in days of gloom, 

Sunk by that stern and withering blast, 
Sleeps in the narrow tomb. 

And another yet — her youngest boy — 
Last link of that severed chain — 

Exiled from his own loved home, 
Ne'er more to see her again. 

May God look on that mother, 

For she a martyr is ! 
Balm on her wounded spirit pour, 

And give peace in the Saviour's bliss. 

Poland ! many such mothers in thee 

Deplore the untimely fate 
Of their brave and noble sons, 

Offered up to tyrant hate. 

Note — This Poem was suggested by hearing the story described 
here told by the unfortunate youngest son who is in exile. 



DEAE SCOTIA'S LAND. 



Dear Scotia's land, I love it well ; 

*Tis the home of the good and true : 
The land where peace doth serenely dwell, 

And varied beauty ever new. 

A nameless charm hangs around 

Its dells and sparkling rills, 
The mossy banks with wild flowers crowned, 

And blooming heather hills. 

? Tis the land where men have fought 
For the rights of the truth divine, 

Who yielded life for the cause they sought 
In their homes and hearts to shine : 



DEAR SCOTIA'S LAND. 93 

And shrunk not from a fearful death, 

A violent torturing doom, 
They knew, for they did live by faith, 

Peace lay beyond the tomb. 

Ah! may dear Scotland's noble sons 

Do what their sires have done — 
Uphold the truth like those martyred ones, 

Who have for ever glory won. 



ON THE 

PROROGATION OF PARLIAMENT, 

Friday, August 8th, 1851. 

(Written after reading the account of it inserted in the 
London Newspapers.) 



A scene of beauty and state was there. 
The trumpets swelled on the thrilling air ; 
Grandeur's imposing bright array 
Hailed our gracious Queen that day ; 
The pride of her throne was gathered around, 
With many a brilliant honour crowned — 
Peers, Statesmen, with talents rare, 
And lovely forms shining fair. 

There 's one encircled with glory bright, 
The Chief who saved his country's right, 
And Britain's victorious flag unfurled — 
Whose undaunted courage preserved a world — 



ON THE PROROGATION OF PARLIAMENT. 95 

He is there ! — on his arm is leaning 

The Marchioness Douro in beauty beaming,* 

Who tends the warrior with gentle care, 

Happy in joy with him to share; 

A graceful sight, which in all hearts raise 

Feelings of reverence, love and praise. 

All honour to our beloved Queen — 
In her may grace be ever seen — 
Long may she reign in peaceful sway : 
Light from above, with heavenly ray, 
Shine on this free and powerful land, 
With blessings from the Almighty hand. 



* Alluding to that interesting moment when His Grace the 
Duke of Wellington entered with the Marchioness of Douro, his 
daughter-in-law, leaning on his arm. 



VERSES. 



Thou art a fair and gentle flower, 

Made for hearts to love, 
The mild glance of thy soft eyes 

Seem lighted from above. 
Thy charms are great, but they fall behind 
The pure and lasting beauties of thy mind. 

Honour and wealth belong to thee, 
Thou hast them well employed ; 

Thy wide extended charities 
Have grief and pain allayed. 

Thou lov'dst not the parade of fame, 

But prized, 'bove all, a spotless name. 



VERSES. 97 

Thou art endeared to many, 

And hast like an angel been, 
The joy of peace diffusing 

O'er many a troubled scene. 
When thou this vale of tears hast trod, 
Shalt blessed be in beholding God. * 

* Matthew v 8. 



a 



DEATH, 

THE CONQUEROR OF ALL. 



What means that clay-cold cheek, 
That dim and sunken eye ? 

Those lips, which oft did speak, 
Have lost their rosy dye. 

Death, with relentless hand, 

Hath wrought this awful change ; 

No rank can him withstand, 
Unbounded is his range. 

Fair childhood's sweetest bloom 
To him can show no charms, 

Down to the silent tomb 
He bears them in his arms. 



DEATH. 

Man, in all his pride 

Of joy and youthful power, 
Must sink beneath the tide, 

And perish in an hour. 

Though gay in smiles of health, 
It cannot avert his doom, 

He falls in the arms of death, 
A tenant of the tomb ! 



Swift is the lightning's glow, 

That speeds o'er the distant plain ; 

Swifter the dart of this foe, 
In his unerring aim. 

When was the tyrant known 

To have spared, and mercy given ? 

Not till this world hath flown 

Shall he from his prey be driven. 



99 



100 DEATH. 

The monarch, with regal state, 
The peasant, with worldly scorn, 

All must meet their fate — 
All shall from earth be torn. 



To throne and cottage alike 

No pity will he show ; 
Invisibly the blow he strikes, 

All is by him laid low. 

Shall his power be e'er o'erthrown, 
His arms laid down in peace ? 

When the last trump has blown, 
Then will his kingdom cease. 



TO A. A. C. 



Remembered be that day, 
And may it sacred be, 

When first my grateful eyes 
Turned to look on thee. 



In this heart of mine 
Thy image is enshrined, 

And ever shall remain 

Till life's cords are untwined. 



Away from friends most dear, 
Fled from the oppressor's hand, 

Compelled to break each tie 
In thy dear native land. 



102 TO A. A. C. 

Held in misfortune's power. 
Unhappy thou hast been ; 

May a brightening star 

Now cheer thee with its beam. 



Then gratefully bless God, 
And ever on Him wait, 

He joy to thee will give — 
For He is great. 

I knelt before his throne, 

And blest His heavenly power, 

That gave me such as thee 
Till life's latest hour. 



ON FLOWERS. 



Loyely things are flowers, 

In their sweetness rife, 
Shedding a gentle joy 

O'er the path of life. 

Speaking things are flowers, 

On their fragile stem ; 
All bliss here is fleeting 

Like unto them. 

Glorious things are flowers — 

Surely they are given 
As a sacred type 

Of the hues of heaven. 

Earthly things are flow r ers, 

No hand their bloom can save ; 

But we shall be renewed 
Beyond the grave. 



THE MOTHER'S DEATH-BED. 



Enveloped in clouds was the darksome night. 

The pale moon hid her face of light ; 

Not even a star illumined the gloom — 

All was drear as the silent tomb. 

The roar of the ocean on the startled ear, 

Filled the mind with awe and fear ; 

The wind passed on with a wailing moan, 

Like a mourner mourning joy that is gone ; 

A tempest of darkness reigned around, 

Shrouding the soul with awe profound. 

That night to the heart spoke language rare, 

It showed that the pow T er of God was there. 

* * # # 

7j£ ^K "5j£ tI* 

In a lonely cottage, all hope in vain, 

Lay a widowed Mother on a couch of pain : 



THE MOTHER'S DEATH-BED. 105 

On her brow was the clammy damp of death, 
Thick and heavy came the parting breath. 
No shade of doubt was on that sweet face. 
No sting of remorse could a gazer trace — 
'Twas a Christian mother lay dying there, 
Her child, her only one, knelt in prayer. 



My son ! she fondly breathed, my son, 
I die, the sands of life are nearly run ; 
The angels of heaven I behold them near, 
Soon before the Judge I shall appear, 
I trust in the mercy of his pardoning love 
To be numbered among the bright host above, 
And join thy father in that blissful land, 
Before the throne for ever to stand. 
Ah! still in this hour of peace and joy 
My heart weeps for thee, my lonely boy. 
But the heavenly Hand for thee will provide, 
In the happy path will thy footsteps guide : 



106 THE MOTHER'S DEATH-BED. 

Trust in him, my child, He will not deceive, 
He will guard from danger who on him believe. 
The God who remembers the ravens with food 
Shall watch o'er thy earthly and spiritual good. 
Promise, my son ! thou wilt look to him, 
While yet I hear thee — ere my soul take wing 
To that glorious land of eternal rest 
Where peace is prepared for the lone oppressed. 



I promise thee, my treasured Mother dear, 
I will pray to our God and he will hear : 
Thy presence shall ever before me be, 
I cannot work sin when I think of thee, 
In my heart thy image shall ever be there — 
In the hour of peace, in the hour of prayer ; 
I shall strive to walk in humble faith, 
Like thee I may meet the pangs of death. 
A sweet smile crept o'er the Mother's face 
As she listened to those mild words of grace. 



THE MOTHER'S DEATH- BED. 107 

She turned her uplifted eyes to his, 

And tried to speak last words of bliss : 

Ah, speech could not come ! his Mother was gone, 

And that boy stood there with death alone. 



Years came and fled : 'twas the genial summertime, 
When the blooming flowers were in their glowing 

prime, 
And the glorious sun shot forth his burning rays, 
Rip'ning the waving corn with his sunny blaze ; 
While birds, from every bush and shady tree, 
Trilled forth their joyous notes of gladness free: 
Earth smiled with sunshine and with mirth, 
And seemed as if rejoicing in new birth : 
Happy gladsome voices sounded sweet and clear, 
With a witching beauty to the heart so dear. 

5fc vfc vfc ■5jr 

* * * * 

In a lone churchyard, on that bright day, 
Far from the busy world away, 



108 THE MOTHER'S DEATH-BED. 

Stood a noble form, with thought intent, 

And eyes upon the ground down bent ; 

'Twas he we left on that night of gloom 

Who stood now by his mother's tomb. 

Years they had flown, but he had won 

The meed that springs from deeds well done ; 

Many souls he had gathered to his Master's fold, 

He had strengthened the slave when bought and 

sold — 
Prayed him to look to that powerful Hand 
Who in time would lighten his galling band; 
He had preached in the desert's far-off wild, 
Turning the savage to a being mild; 
Through the mighty truths of heavenly love 
He taught them to know their God above; 
And now he had come again at last 
To revisit the scenes of the lonely past. 
He thought, as he knelt in that still place, 
How her prayers had been heard at the throne of 

grace, 



THE MOTHER'S DEATH-BED. 109 

He had kept his promise well and true. 
And had ever held God's truth in view. 
His heart was chastened with grateful love. 
He felt he would join her in realms above ; 
In that sweet hour his heart was all joy. 
He felt no fear from pain or alloy, 
Calmly he turned to his peaceful home, 
More happy than the dweller in a stately dome. 



DECEMBER, 

OR THE CLOSING OF THE YEAH. 



The end of the year is drawing nigh, 
The wind passes on with a mournful sigh, 
The trees of their verdant glory are stript 
By the cold blast that has o'er them swept; 
Dismal and dreary the view of the hills, 
And desolate now the murmuring rills, 
That cooled the thirst of the shepherd men 
When tending their flocks in the sunny glen. 

■^ rfc t£ t£ t£ ■}£ 

The sun keeps back his warm light, 

Faint and seldom he appears to sight, 

There is no beauty for him to beam, 

No verdure nor flowers around to be seen; 

Cold and bleak is the shortened day, 

For the year is fast wearing away. 

* * * # * * 

Ah ! we like the year are wearing too, 
Soon from this earth to bid adieu ; 
May we all seek that onward way 
That leads to peace and eternal day. 



TO MY EAELIEST FRIEND. 



I saw thee in brightness beaming, 
Like a star in the heaven serene; 

I saw thee in sweetness blooming, 
Like a flower in loveliness seen. 



Thy voice like music came o'er me 
When lonely in sadness I sighed ; 

Thine arms with love entwined me, 
When hope in my bosom had died. 

Long may thy beauty adorning — 
The circle of friends around, 

Every wish of thy heart forming — 
By happiness be crowned. 



112 TO MY EARLIEST FRIEND. 

May sorrow never come nigh thee. 
To rob thy cheek of its bloom, 

Nor danger ever assail thee, 
Blighting thy life with gloom. 



Like clouds, when the sun appearing 
In brightness, doth quickly depart; 

So envy, with thoughts of paining, 
Fly from the friend of my heart. 

Now to thee I must bid adieu, 
Ever shall I remember thee ; 

My friend, be thou ever true 
In friendship — faithful to me. 



THE BOUQUET. 



A beautiful bouquet of flowers 

A friend bestowed upon me, 
When faint with heat I sought 

The shade of the Sycamore Tree. 
More sweet perfume could not be found, 

To cool the sultry hours, 
Than the rich odour welling forth 

From out those glorious flowers. 

Delighted and fondly I gazed 

On the Rose and Violet entwined. 

Ah ! w^ould it were more often found, 
Meekness and beauty combined. 

Their very sight shed holy calm 
Upon my disturbed mind, 

They seemed to speak their Maker's words, 
' Seek peace and ye shall find.' 

H 



POLAND AND THE POLES 

IN THE LATE HUNGARIAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 

(Written September 6, 1851.) 



Honour to the land whose sons have fought 

In battle's bloody fray; 
Tho' lost the freedom that they sought, 

By despot tyrant's sway. 

Honour to the patriot soldier bands, 

Who have the foe defied ; 
And rather than yield to slavish hands, 

On the gory field have died. 

Honour to the youthful heroes' might, 
Who turned from slavery's brand, 

And girded on the sword of right 
For their loved fatherland; 






POLAND AND THE POLES. 115 

With bravery their country served, 

Aye, even unto death, 
Who never once from duty swerved, 

True to their last breath. 



For Hungary the sister kingdom 

Gave the helping hand, 
To free her from the thraldom 

That's wasting her fair land. 

Alas ! their fond hopes now are gone, 

All efforts vain to save, 
The proud foes' triumph's shown 

O'er those devoted brave. 



Their blood hath stained many a field, 

Where now they sleep ; 
For liberty they raised their shield — 

But left dear friends to weep. 



116 POLAND AND THE POLES. 

Poland ! thy name shall ever stand 
Long as words endure, 

Free, true men of every land 
Shall guard thy fame secure. 



Oh ! burst the chain that binds thee, 

With its corroding blight ; 
And break the gloom that shrouds thee, 

In worse than cloudy night ! 

Ah ! may thou see a day 

In brighter glory rise, 
Live and rule, in freedom's sway, 

Despite usurping eyes ! 



JESUS WEPT.* 



They stood in wondering awe, 

And solemn silence kept. 
When for the lost loved dead 

The gentle Jesus wept. 
He wept, the Lord of heaven, 

The tears of bitter woe, 
As near that grave he stood, 

Where Lazarus lay so low. 

No eye since then has gazed 
On such a moving scene, 

When the mighty Saviour showed 
Human grief so keen. 

Those priceless tears of Jesus 
In every age have given, 

* John xi. 35. 



118 JESUS WEPT. 

Joy to the trembling souls 

Who have with sorrow striven. 

They live in every Christian heart, 

The memory of those tears, 
He who shed those precious drops 

Has banished all their fears. 
His gracious power is ever kind, 

His love is ever nigh, 
He soothes the wearied frame, 

Wipes tears from every eye. 

He took our mortal form, 

And blessed hope He gave, 
He died that we might win 

A home beyond the grave. 
Lift up the voice of praise 

To Him who has done this, 
Who suffered shame and death, 

To bring us unto bliss. 



CONSOLATION. 



Why do such thoughts come o'er thee ? 

Why in anguish sit ? 
Trust in God who made thee ; 

Be patient and submit. 

The world it is before thee, 

Sweet and lovely still ; 
Jehovah's arm shall guide thee 

From every coming ill. 

Let not doubt assail thee — 

Holy peace is there. 
In those heavens above thee, 

Shining bright and fair. 

Rely on God's almighty power. 
Thou shalt have peace within, 

His hand of love shall keep thee — 
Dismiss those thoughts of sin. 



TO EIGHTEEN HUNDKED AND 
FIFTY-ONE. 



A glorious year has come, 
Like the sun in heaven's sky ; 

Be it a year of bliss 
To you and I. 

Let not the tempter find 
One lurking spot of sin, 

But onward, onward on, 
The glorious goal to win. 

Ye who are dark in doubt 
Forsake destruction's snare ; 

Bend down the stubborn knee 
In penitence and prayer, 






TO EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE. 121 

And He shall give thee light, 

Chasing all fear away — 
Priestcraft in this free land 

Shall never, never sway. 

Up then, my Christian friends, 

Time is not our own ; 
Embrace the fleeting moments 

Ere they are gone. 



Note. — Popery has this year made such a fearful inroad in 
this Christian land that it becomes every one to repel its insi- 
dious advances by all means in their power: nothing is more 
effectual than prayer; let us, then, fly to that refuge, and so 
defy all the fiery darts of the wicked. 



ON THE INAUGURATION OF THE 

WELLINGTON STATUE, EDINBURGH, 

june 18th, 1852. 



Edina's stately city looked on a brilliant sight, 
When in unshrouded majesty that statue saw the 

light, 
The drum and bugle horn thrilled forth martial song, 
And noble men stood there among that countless 

throng. 
Triumphant joyous shouts burst forth with mighty 

swell, 
As the sculptured form first on the proud gaze fell 
Of him, whose conquering arm on that eventful day 
Subdued the man of destiny to Britain's sway; 
And saved a world from that usurping foe 
Whose proud ambition made streams of blood to 

flow; 



INAUGURATION OF THE WELLINGTON STATUE. 123 

Checked him in his soaring wild career, 
Made his great heart to feel the pangs of fear. 
A nation owes thee much, thou warrior brave, 
Thou who their dear homes and rights did save. 
Thousands, as they gaze upon thee standing here, 
Know that to thee they owe their country dear. 
Thy name in British hearts enshrined for ever be, 
While Thistle, Rose, and Shamrock shall wave free, 
On thy proud image other generations will look on, 
And pour forth blessings on the name of Wellington. 



Note. — The statue was covered when first put up ; the next 
day being the day of inauguration, at a given signal it was un- 
covered for the first time to the gaze of the vast multitude 
assembled on that memorable occasion. 



FAREWELL POEM TO A DEAR FRIEND. 



When thinking on the past 

I'll ever think of thee, 
No time nor place shall ever chase 

Those thoughts away from me. 

When I, in another land, 

A stranger shall be there, 
Elate with hope, the cheering thought, 

Thou wilt breathe for me a prayer. 

And though to a foreign shore 

I shall away be gone, 
Forget not the past while memory last, 

The years that now are flown. 



FAREWELL POEM TO A DEAR FRIEND. 125 

They are fled those days of peace, 

Those hours of happy fears, 
Their glory bright hath sunk in night, 

In dark clouds of other years. 

We may never meet again ; 

But may we meet above, 
In the heavenly land, where a holier band 

Refines all earthly love. 

Dry, then, those tearful eyes, 

And let this trust be thine — 
Though fate decide that death divide, 

In heaven we'll hope to shine. 

Mary, my best loved friend, 

Language fails to tell — 
Lips cannot reveal— what I now feel 

When bidding thee farewell ! 



THE SEA. 



Thou boundless and ever-mighty sea. 
Rolling on in thy power and grandeur free ; 
Mortals cannot limit thy pathless way, 
Command nor brook thy potent sway. 
Foaming in wild untamed career 
Thy waves roll on without a fear; 
Thou hast a music of thine own, 
Sounding sad, mysterious and lone ; 
Thy billows, foaming in angry strife, 
Seem'st endowed with a spirit's life. 
Ever changing, thou powerful sea, 
Now scowling — now in harmless glee, 
Bringing peace to the sinking heart, 
When joining the friends that were apart — 
Or covering with anguish the spirit brave, 
When in thee their hopes have found a grave ! 



THE SEA. 127 

Thy waters have quenched many a soul 
That defied the world's most stern control. 
Earth cannot show a sight so grand 
In her fair palaces that stud the land. 
As thou, when roused from thy peaceful sleep 
To the warring motion on thy billowy deep : 
No sight so gladdening, bright and free, 
As the glorious, blue and boundless sea ! 



A PRAYER. 



Almighty Father of light above, 

Show me the blessed way, 
That from the pure and holy path 

My feet may never stray. 

Ah, open up thy precious truths 

To my desiring gaze, 
My heart shall then be filled with joy, 

And praises to thee raise. 

Thou hast guided me through dangers 

Numberless and great ; 
Thou tookst me from the snares 

That did my soul await. 



A PRAYER. 129 

Protect me still, O Father ! 

With thy strengthening arm ; 
Secure, then, in thy gracious love, 

No one can work me harm. 

I by the Saviour's sacred blood, 

Shall cleaned be from all sin, 
And, through believing humble faith, 

The crown of glory win. 

Thou Great Almighty Lord of all ! 

Preserve me in thy hand, 
Then by triumphant holy grace, 

I shall before thee stand I 



THE CHANGE. 



I do love to wander 

In the forest wild, 
Musing on the happy hours 

When I was a child ; 
Hours of sunny gladness, 

When my spirit free 
Never thought a shadow 

Could ever fall on me. 



When seated in some flowery nook, 

Within the shady dell, 
The world seemed a fairy place, 

Where I could ever dwell. 



THE CHANGE. 131 



Life had then a charm. 
Teeming with delight ; 

All seemed good and fair 
That met my ardent sight. 



But, ah ! the wreath of gladness 

Is torn from my brow ; 
Dark shadows they have fallen 

Upon my spirit now. 
The flowers of hope I gathered. 

Withered are and fled — - 
O'er the ashes of the past 

I bitter tears have shed. 



Still a heavenly spirit-voice 
Seems hovering ever near, 

Telling of a holier land, 
Where never lurks a fear ; 



132 THE CHANGE. 

And bids me look to God 
For help in hours of grief, 

Who will not put my prayer away, 
But turn and give relief. 



Shall I dare to disobey 

That soothing spirit- voice ? 
No ; I shall bend before his throne, 

And in his name rejoice. 
I'll cast away distracting cares, 

That shrouded me in gloom ; 
He, in his own good time, will call 

Me to a happy home. 



A SOLDIER SPED ON HIS LONELY 
WAY. 



A soldier sped on his lonely way, 
The wreath of hope was round him ; 

His heart was light as joyous day, 
For glory bright had crowned him. 

Now, again, to his native vale, 

He gladly was returning, 
Again, with love and joy to hail 

The dear ones he left mourning. 

The pale moon's clear and silvery light 
Shone on the sparkling rills, 

Displayed, to his enraptured sight, 
Auld Scotia's heather hills. 



134 A SOLDIER SPED ON HIS LONELY WAY. 

He reached the vale, and long he gazed, 
O'erpowered with strong emotion ; 

His eyes to heaven he humbly raised, 
And prayed with true devotion. 

For there, shown by the soft moonlight, 

A cottage sweet appeared, 
And looked so lovely, fair and bright, — 

'Twas the home where he was reared. 

Now a father's hand is clasped in his, 
A mother's arm is round him, 

A sister pours forth words of bliss, 
As smiling she hangs o'er him. 

'Tis seldom that the soldier greets 

So happy a returning ; 
Alas ! he much more often meets 

Sadness, death and sorrowing. 



FULLARTON AND MACNAB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. 



GENERAL BEM AND OTHER POEMS. 



The authoress of this neat little volume of poetiy, although bearing a Polish 
surname, is, we understand, a Scottish lady; and we may mention the fact for 
the reader's information, as the subjects of many of the pieces, coupled with the 
name, had almost deluded us into the belief that Mrs. Czarnecki was a native 
Sarmatian. That she is a Polish patriot there can be no doubt, as in addition 
to the "Lines on General Bern," we find poems entitled "The Dying Captive 
in Siberia," " The Polish Mother, or the Fate of a Polish Household," and " Po- 
land and the Poles in the late Hungarian Struggle for Liberty," all breathing a 
warm and glowing sympathy in the cause of that interesting but down-trodden 
land. But while this is the characteristic of a number of the pieces, the strain 
of the most of them is of a domestic and religious kind, which cannot fail to re- 
commend the volume to numerous readers. — North British Daily Mail. 

This work is the production of a Scottish lady, now the wife of a distinguished 
exile in this country. Though there is the indication of a Scottish mind in this 
little volume, it has an additional charm from the earnestness with which the 
authoress enters into the circumstances of Hungary, and the deep sympathy 
she evidently feels with its noble though downcast children. The volume is 
made up of miscellaneous pieces, some of them of a religious character, such as 
'The Peace of the Sabbath," "Before the Throne in Prayer," "Where can the 
Heart have Peace?"— Glasgow Examiner. 

A neat little volume of poetry has just been published, entitled " General 
Bern and Other Poems, by Mrs. L. A. Czarnecki." The authoress is a Scotch 
lady, but married to a Polish gentleman, which accounts for the foreign name. 
The poetry breathes both a patriotic and christian spirit, and the reviews which 
have appeared in several of our contemporaries speak very highly of it. — Ayr 
A dvertiser. 

Mrs. Czarnecki's pretty little volume contains some praiseworthy verses. It 
is pervaded by the love of liberty, the sense of moral beauty, and a pious sym- 
pathy with the doctrines of the gospel. — Scottish Guardian. 

Mrs. Czarnecki, the writer of the volume before us, we can hardly be wrong 
in concluding is a native of our own island, acquainted with our customs and 
manners, and familiar with the idioms of our language. She has dedicated her 
little work to one of our distinguished citizens, William Campbell. Esq. of Til- 
lichewan. The piece which she has devoted to General Bern occupies only 
three pages of the volume, but even that rendered it quite appropriate to place 
a name so distinguished at the head of the volume. The pieces are in all thirty- 
three, in which trodden-down Poland and Hungary, as might have been ex- 
pected, come in for a share of the writer's poetic musings. There are several 
pieces of a religious nature, and all have a good moral tendency. " Jochonan, 
or the City of the Demons," is a terrible story, but it has a good moral. — Chris- 
tian News. 

A well-intentioned little volume, breathing a spirit of freedom and piety. — 
Glasgow Citizen. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

" General Bern and other Poems." A pretty little volume under this title has 
been published, It is the production of Mrs. L. A. Czarnecki, a Scotchwoman, 
notwithstanding the Polish patronymic she derives from her husband, and the 
warm sympathy she shows with Polish and Hungarian wrongs. Many of her 
pieces are smoothly and pleasantly written, and their tendency as a whole is 
patriotic, pure, and devout. — Glasgow Chronicle. 

This is a neat little volume of verse, handsomely printed and bound, and de- 
dicated to William Campbell, Esq. of Tillichewan Castle, as a tribute of admira- 
tion to that public and private character which has secured for him universal 
esteem. The contents are various, and some of the poems have already ap- 
peared in the newspapers. The fair authoress, a Scotchwoman, we believe, is 
warmly attached to the Hungarian cause, and employs her pen in recording 
the praises of its great chiefs. — Glasgoio Constitutional. 

"General Bern and Other Poems." A volume under this title has just been 
published by Mrs. Czarnecki. The lady is a native of Scotland, but is married 
to a Pole, and her writings exhibit a warm sympathy for the unfortunate coun- 
try of her husband. — Cai^lisle Journal. 

This volume is by a Scottish lady, the wife of a resident Pole, and as their title 
may indicate, they are strongly patriotic towards the Polish and Hungarian 
cause. The majority of the pieces are moreover written with considerable 
taste and feeling, and do much credit to the lady's heart as well as head. The 
most ambitious piece in the volume is Jochonan, or the City of the Demons, 
which displays considerable merit. — Glasgow Sentinel. 

This handsome volume of poetry is the production of a Scottish lady, who is 
now the wife of a Polish exile in this country. As may be inferred from the 
title, Hungary and Poland— their wrongs, and their heroic efforts to redress 
them — occupy a large portion of its pages ; while the remainder are devoted to 
miscellaneous pieces of moral and religious tendency. The style is easy and 
smooth ; and the entire work breathes an earnestness and patriotism, which 
cannot fall to be captivating and elevating. We have no hesitation in recom- 
mending this elegant little volume to the attention of the lovers of poetry. — 
Stirling Obsei^ver. 

We beg to direct the special attention of the public generally to the Adver- 
tisement of Mrs. Czarnecki. Our contemporaries in every district in Scotland 
have eulogised her style and taste as exhibited in General Bern and other 
poems, and all that remains for us to say, is simply, that they breathe a glow- 
ing fervour of Christian feeling, and display great ability. — Campbelton Journal. 

This is a pretty little volume of poetry, the production of a Scotch lady, the 
Polish patronymic the authoress derives from her husband, and her verses are 
smoothly and pleasantly written, and breathe a genuine spirit of piety, patriot- 
ism, and a love of liberty.— Greenock Herald. 

Sir William Johnston presents his compliments to Mrs L. A. Czarnecki, and 
begs to offer his best thanks for her handsome volume of Poems, which he will 
carefully peruse. Sir W. Johnston feels obliged by the kind manner in which 
Mrs. C. has noticed his public services. — 38 George's Square, Edinburgh. 

Dr. Wielobycki presents his. compliments to Mrs. Czarnecki, with thanks 
for the precious volume of her poetry sent last month ; it will certainly contri- 
bute to the perpetuation of the noble characters it chants through the medium 
of the English tongue.— 55 Queen Street. Edinburgh. 



